


It was the way they talked to you

by Beleriandings



Series: And up and down, and fast and slow [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Porn with Feelings, Post Apocalypse, aftermath of the body-swap/trials, heaven is emotionally abusive and so is hell, it's just very soft okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-25 14:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: “You know, you never told me” Aziraphale said, turning the stem of his glass between his fingers, a grin playing across his face. “What you got up to in Heaven. I’d have loved to have seen you in action at my trial - ” he broke off, fingers going still. “Oh. Crowley? Whatever’s the matter?”





	1. Chapter 1

There was something different about Crowley, since he had come back from heaven. Aziraphale, for his part, was finding it difficult to pinpoint it; as they dined at the Ritz, it was barely there at all, subsumed almost entirely by the sense of Love that was rolling off him in waves, mingling with his own and pooling all about the two of them as they paid their bill. _That_ was stronger than ever today, leaving a little wake like a swimming duck behind them as Crowley drove them back to the bookshop, having a slight general calming effect on the Piccadilly traffic behind them.

Not that this overwhelming love was anything new, of course; Aziraphale had long ago zeroed his internal scale on the background levels of Crowley’s love for him, and his own for Crowley, if at first only subconsciously. But now he had been to Hell and back — literally — now _he_ felt different. Full of a sort of recklessness that was quite unprecedented. Now, this sense of love felt different too, like it was time for something else to happen. Like it had been waiting too long at the queue in the post office and was on the point of giving the man behind the till a stern talking to, if it wasn’t served soon.

Still though. There was something else there too, he realised. He caught a hint of it in Crowley’s eyes as he drew the car to a halt on his familiar patch of double yellow line. He only caught a glimpse of them, as Crowley turned to look at him, past the very edge of his sunglasses. But Aziraphale was practiced enough at reading Crowley’s expressions to see the something that was there. A sense of expectancy, something going unsaid.

Not that that was anything new either, the farthest thing from it, but….it felt as though there was something they needed to discuss, before they could get to the better stuff. So to speak. Aziraphale still wasn’t quite accepting the fact that they actually _could_ get to any better stuff now, but freedom, he supposed, was always going to have a learning curve.

“Angel. Are you just going to sit there all day, or are you going to invite me in?”

Aziraphale blinked, turning his head to see that while he was grappling with the full expanse of the ramifications of their new situation — as frightening as they were brimming with glorious possibility — Crowley had got out of the car and opened the passenger door for him.

“…Oh! Of course!”

Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley a few more times. He was staring at Aziraphale with his head slightly on one side. Crowley looked… contemplative, he thought, as though he also saw whatever it was that stood in the way of them. But the corner of his mouth was crooked up a little in a smile, and he was holding out his hand for Aziraphale to take.

Which, after giving himself a quick mental cold shower, Aziraphale did, fumbling in his other pocket clumsily for the key to the bookshop. He was not above having a quick, stern word with the key and the door to speed up the process, because he was very much enjoying holding Crowley’s hand and was not about to part with it so easily, thank you very much.

Inside was…almost exactly as he had left it. He breathed in the familiar scent of dust and old pages, finding it distressing but hard to imagine that just yesterday it had all gone up in flames. There were…_oh_, those books were new, he thought vaguely. Crowley had warned him at lunch. But inventory could wait; he was, after all, still holding Crowley’s hand, and was feeling both far too good-natured and too highly-strung to be much use for much of anything that wasn’t directly related to that.

He looked up at Crowley, as the door obediently closed behind them. Crowley was looking up at the ceiling, as though it might fall in on them. But he was still holding Aziraphale’s hand, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. Somehow, it made Aziraphale’s chest ache a little, in a disarmingly human way. Maybe it was the new body, which he hadn’t quite worn in yet. He gave an awkward little cough. “Well” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “Make yourself at home.”

They had, after all, several things that probably should not or possibly could not go unaddressed much longer.

* * *

It took several more hours and not a few more glasses of wine before he managed to finally get it out of him, that unsaid thing.

By which point, Crowley was sprawled across the sofa, one long leg thrown across Aziraphale’s lap, the wine making the whole world warm and fuzzy as a summer shower came down outside. Regular London drizzle, rather than a storm of fish or frogs or any kind of global flood-inducing downpour, which was extremely reassuring. Inside the bookshop the lamps were lit, comforting and softly golden. But even their gentle light was eclipsed by the warm swirl of love in the room, enveloping the two of them.

That said, over the course of the evening Crowley had begun to grow maudlin. Aziraphale himself was slightly drunk but concerned at the _something_ in his eyes, that reticence, a holding back of something. He frowned; earlier he had been planning on letting Crowley get to it in his own time — whatever _it_ was — but he didn’t seem to be forthcoming. And besides, he had now consumed enough wine to feel as though it was his business to initiate such a conversation.

He reached out and took Crowley’s hand again. “Dear boy” he said, “what’s the matter?”

Crowley’s twitched at the sudden contact, his glasses dropping a half centimetre down his nose. “What? What’s what matter, angel?”

Aziraphale corralled all the courage he had and ran a gentling thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand. “That’s what I asked. It’s only that you’ve been dreadfully out of sorts since just after lunch, and I was wondering, because I thought we’d…” he broke off, feeling his face go pink. “I mean... that is to say…”

Crowley raised his head, watching interestedly as Aziraphale floundered, suddenly extremely aware of the points of contact between the two of them, their joined hands and Crowley’s leg thrown across his lap. Not that he made any attempt to move. He sighed, steadying his nerves. It was _Crowley_, after all. “It’s only,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “we had _such_ a lovely lunch, but you’ve grown so quiet since. And please don’t just say you’re all right and be moving on with it, because I _know_ something’s bothering you, and…” he took a breath, slowing his speech before the words started tumbling out too fast and in the wrong order, “and if it’s…_that_” he forced out the word, knowing — _hoping __— _that Crowley knew exactly what he meant, this thing that they had been dancing around for longer than either of them were able to say, “then, well, maybe it’s… time, wouldn’t you say?” He leaned a little closer to Crowley, forgoing breathing entirely lest the hitch in it give his sudden nervousness away. His voice had dropped to a whisper, but he knew Crowley could still hear him, across the short gap between them. Crowley had sat up, was looking at him with an expression as though he’d been slapped in the face, and the pain hadn’t kicked in yet but the surprise had.

“A..angel…” Crowley managed to choke out. He took a gulp of wine from his glass, and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand that was still in his. It looked as though the words were very hard for him to say. “It’s…actually not that. _Mmf_. Well. It’s not _not_ that, but…” he put down the glass, took his hand out of Aziraphale’s, making him feel a little bereft as he watched Crowley running his fingers through his hair, knotting them together in his lap, puffing out his cheeks and blowing out a breath. Crowley was _fussing_, Aziraphale saw, which was normally his own mode of dealing with Situations. Perhaps swapping bodies had imparted certain things. They did say that form shaped nature, after all.

“Angel. I…”

Aziraphale’s gaze darted up, too quickly to maintain the illusion — if there had ever been one — that he was in control of this, and that he hadn’t just been staring at Crowley’s hands. He wanted to put his own over them, to gentle and still their restless motion again. To keep holding on after. But he couldn’t, he knew; not just yet. Crowley had never, ever pushed him, and he would return the favour. It was something they’d been coming to for a long time, and he felt that if he were to upset the progression of it, the slow and careful set dance towards each other, then the chance might be lost forever. He tugged at the ring on his smallest finger, rotating it around and around to keep himself from reaching out. _All in time_. He looked up to see himself looking back, reflected in Crowley’s glasses. He frowned; Crowley looked even more troubled than he had a moment ago. He straightened up, all thoughts of his own selfish yearning swept aside in a moment. “What? My dear, what’s the matter?”

To his surprise, he felt Crowley’s hands grasp his own hands, just as he had thought of doing just now. His grip was insistent, desperate, but he just held them there between them, clinging on as though Aziraphale would vanish if he let go. But he didn’t seem to know what else to do. “I, hhh, um,,,” said Crowley, averting his gaze. He ducked his head, then looked up at Aziraphale again, peering just over the top of his glasses. He moved his hands deliberately so they were both clasping Aziraphale’s left hand, leaving the right one free. “Just. You know. Glad you’re okay. After...all that.” he ducked his head just so, so that his glasses slipped a little further down, making eye contact with Aziraphale over the top of them. Asking, so politely, for something he didn’t quite have the words for.

Aziraphale knew what Crowley wanted, and was happy to oblige. Very gently, he lifted his free hand, taking off Crowley’s glasses and laying them on the table at the side. “My dear Crowley, of course. Why shouldn’t I be okay? I told you about my time in Hell.” He gave a slightly mischievous grin. “Between you and me, I found it quite invigorating, the stir I caused, and I hope that at least it means you won’t be forced to go back to that dreadful place again anytime soon.” He shuddered, inwardly. In truth, he _had_ been afraid at the time; but he had been desperately afraid for Crowley, more than for himself, all the fears he had had over the years about Crowley and Hell’s vengeance on him feeling justified all at once. But he had triumphed, they both had, and fear felt far away here, in the warm lamplit bookshop with the two of them so close together, the gentle rain whispering down outside.

“…Mmf” said Crowley, looking doubtful. He clasped Aziraphale’s hands tighter again, looking away as though starting to seriously reconsider such intense eye contact. He muttered something unintelligible, addressing the nearest bookcase more than Aziraphale.

“Pardon?”

“….Oh. Nothing. Never mind, angel.”

Aziraphale frowned, leaning back again. “What?”

“Drink your wine, angel. S’good.”

He thought, for a moment, of arguing, but then dismissed the notion for now. There was clearly something that Crowley wanted to talk about, but he’d get to it in his own time, and Aziraphale would wait. The irony of that was not lost on him. Nevertheless, he took a sip of wine, thinking of the way they had laughed together earlier, riding the high of their triumph.

“You know, you never told me” Aziraphale said, turning the stem of his glass between his fingers, a grin playing across his face. “What you got up to in Heaven. I’d have loved to have seen you in action at my trial - ” he broke off, fingers going still. “Oh. Crowley? Whatever’s the matter?”

Crowley had frozen in place as Aziraphale had spoken, stiller than he could ever remember him being, eyes fixed forwards and staring unblinkingly at the shelved spines of the books behind Aziraphale’s head, seeing something other than was there. His only movement was his clench of his fist in the fabric of the sofa, knuckles going white with the tensing of muscles.

It was alarming to say the least. Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s hand, then back at his face, then back at the hand again, wondering if reaching out to clasp his own over it would be inappropriate now.

“Crowley...”

Crowley blinked, once, twice — practically unprecedented, by Crowley’s standards — and when he looked back at Aziraphale his gaze had cleared; he was smiling, though there was something a just a little artificial to it, Aziraphale saw.

“What’s that, angel? Your trial?”

“I...yes, that was what I asked.”

Crowley looked at him for a fraction of a second more, before smiling. “Oh, it was very long. Masses of witnesses, all recounting stories. I hope I put on a good show; they really put you through the ringer with the questioning, getting every last detail out! Proper courtroom drama stuff! Gabriel in one of those stupid little wigs! It was quite fun, actually, before. Nng. You know.”

Aziraphale looked at him for a long second. Then he sighed. “Why are you lying to me, Crowley? You _never_ lie to me. Not about the things that matter.” Not that Aziraphale had returned the favour, of course; just recently, he had told Crowley a number of lies. _We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you. It’s over_. The memory came with a guilty ache.

“...That you know of” said Crowley, weakly. “I mean. Um. Don’t know what you’re talking about, angel.”

“Stop it. I know you. And I _know_ when you’re lying. You’re very bad at it” he said. “Why are you lying about this?”

Crowley cast him a slightly resentful look.

“Oh, don’t start” said Aziraphale, suddenly weary. Again, he thought about reaching out and taking Crowley’s hand; again, he held himself back. “Look here, it’s not just you. I know Heaven. And I know that they wouldn’t...give me a trial like that. It’s a nice thought, perhaps, but…” he took a deep breath, knowing his words to be the truth; what were unthinkable thoughts a few days ago now felt self evident, though they still tasted like fear on his tongue. Perhaps it was reflexive, after so long. He smiled determinedly through it. “After what I’ve done, I rather think there’s no room in Heaven for even the possibility of mercy. Not there. Not for me.” He did reach out for Crowley’s hand now, lacing their fingers together just as he had done on that weary bus ride home. Brilliantly orange streetlamps had flashed by, the fluorescent light inside too bright, yet both were blocked out by the incandescent, ever-burning blaze of Crowley’s love for him, leaving his senses all but nightblind.

As he had then, Crowley turned his hand into Aziraphale’s immediately, clasping his fingers, tight and needy. He looked up at Crowley’s expression and saw the ache there, and it told him all he needed to know.

And even now, even after all of it, Crowley was still trying to protect him.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, then. You don’t need to tell me, my dear - ”

“There wasn’t a trial” burst out Crowley, before he could finish. “They. Ah.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “They didn’t even give you a trial! They jussst went sstraight to execution! By hellfire! The _pain_ would have been - ” his voice went low and sibilant, his eyes filled with a kind of manic, suppressed fury that Aziraphale had never seen there before. “There wasss _nothing_!” He bared his teeth. “And I thought _humanity_ could be barbaric when it wanted to.” His face crumpled, voice choking up slightly. “Dunno what I expected, given...well, everything else, but. Seems worse, when it’s you. You’re so….nnnn… you’re so _good_.”

Aziraphale frowned, rather perturbed. Crowley barely ever talked like this. “Come now, I doubt that in the grand scheme of things, that I, specifically - ”

“You _are_” insisted Crowley. He looked thunderous. “The way Gabriel _talked_ to you.”

“Oh, well, that’s _Gabriel_” sighed Aziraphale. He winced. “I learned to...manage him, I suppose, over the years. But you knew that already, didn’t you? That time he came to the shop.”

This recollection appeared to make things worse. “You’re telling me! I thought he was just a bore and an annoyance to you! And the others...I didn’t...if I had _realised_...”

Aziraphale, alarmed, felt tears prickling at his own eyes. “It wasn’t all that bad, really...”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t. You don’t have to, anymore. You don’t have to make excuses for them.” He gritted his teeth. “Because if I ever see any of them again, it doesn’t matter because I’ll fucking destroy every last one of them for the way they treated you.”

“...Oh. Well” said Aziraphale, a little overwhelmed; some part of him, long quashed and hidden, was crying out in triumph and hope, quiet at first but growing louder by the moment. “I hope what we did today means you won’t need to. It’s like you said, they’ll leave us alone for a while.”

Crowley gave him a lopsided, slightly watery smile. “Here’s hoping, angel. And. Um. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for” said Aziraphale, trying for conviction. He felt like something had been torn from his chest, but not his heart; more like an infected thing, a weight and a pain he hadn’t realised he had been carrying about with him. He thought of how Crowley had tried to lie to him just now, to make the pulling of it as gentle as possible. “I’ve got everything I need here” he said, and meant it.”

“...Angel...” Crowley made a soft little sound in his throat, unable to carry on.

Daring more than he ever had before — the situation called for it, when Crowley needed comfort he now felt he could be as bold as he liked, all fear cast aside — he raised his hand to brush Crowley’s cheekbone very gently, with the backs of his fingers. The motion made Crowley go immediately still once more, but it was not the same this time; not the frozen stillness of a cornered thing, but a bright, paralysed awe, as humans sometimes succumbed to when presented with miracles.

Aziraphale smiled softly, overwhelmed once more with a love that had blossomed from denial, realisation and acceptance to something so much more; inevitability, a steady progression and a growing together to become what they were now. He saw now that there was no one point at which anything had changed; Crowley had been there, all the time, and his fundamental nature — though Aziraphale had not seen it, had mistaken it, or deliberately chosen to look away from it, for so long — had always been to love, and to love, and to love, and to protect at all costs.

This had happened before, was the thing, albeit only in little ways. Thinking back now, he recognised the way Crowley always looked, when Aziraphale came back from his check-ins with Heaven, or after the time Gabriel had dropped by the shop. Crowley’s eyes studiously taking in the very minute shake in Aziraphale’s hands, though he tried to still it, the way there was tension in his shoulders. Crowley didn’t miss a thing, never had done. He was always good like that, but the way he looked at Aziraphale after those meetings with the other angels had always made Aziraphale feel…exposed. Not as though he were being judged for himself, mind — Crowley would never — but as though he had to defend someone whom he didn’t know if he particularly wanted to defend. Or, rather, he hadn’t known then. Now, things were clearer. Because Crowley’s face now, was like it had been all those times before, except much more so, and in the intensity of it, Aziraphale knew that look for what it was; protectiveness, and anger. Not just any anger either, but _righteous_ anger, a look that he had never seen on Crowley outside of this circumstance but which suited him surprisingly well.

Or would have, if it weren’t for the pain interleaved with it on his face. Aziraphale reached across the gap between them again. “My dear” he said, very gently, trying not to let his fingers tremble as they cupped Crowley’s cheek. “Yes, I…perhaps you were right, all those times before. Perhaps I’ve been harsh with you in the past, when you only wanted to protect me from them.” He winced. “I do understand things better now, though. Thank you for showing me.”

Crowley, who had gone very still at Aziraphale’s hand on his face, ground his teeth at this. “I was… very close” he confessed, “to burning them all. He glared, thunderous, yet somehow weary underneath it all. “Burning all of Heaven to the ground. It’s what they deserve.”

“I’m glad you didn’t” said Aziraphale. “Then I never would have got you back.”

“I know. That’s why” said Crowley, simply. He sniffed, scrunching up his face in a way probably intended to conceal the fresh tears welling in his eyes. He let out hollow little laugh. “Funny thing, but I didn’t hate even them as much as I love you. Bad practice for a demon, probably, but all that’s rather a moot point now, I s’pose…_what_?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed. He felt as though he had been punched in the heart — except, a very kind, very tender sort of punching — when Crowley just said the words so casually, the ones that he had been warring with for so long, carrying around like they were a canister of something radioactive. Which, in hindsight, suddenly seemed extremely silly. “Oh, just… I never thought it would be you that would say it first” confessed Aziraphale. Actually, he had tried hard not to speculate much at all, for his own comfort and safety, not that he had been much good at it. But when he had pictured it, he had always pictured his own shy admission, and Crowley, in the best case scenario, sweeping him up into his arms and kissing him, sometimes against a wall, sometimes against the door of the Bentley, one memorable and particularly enticing time in front of all of the assembled ranks of Heaven and Hell themselves, while flipping them all the finger. Then there had been the worst case scenarios, which all involved rejection and usually left him tired and apprehensive the whole day just thinking about them, no matter how unrealistic his rational brain knew that they were. Crowley would never deliberately hurt him, scoff at him, or otherwise refuse his love, he knew. Or at least, that was what Aziraphale always told himself.

But whatever he had imagined, it hadn’t been Crowley confessing his love to him. And so casually, too, as though it were a self evident fact. It was, of course, but that was wholly beside the point.

“Welp” said Crowley, looking, suddenly, a little agonised. He gave an odd little half-shrug. “’s true, angel. I think after everything we’ve been through, there’s not much point in…” he broke off, clearly reading Something into Aziraphale’s rather gobsmacked expression, visibly backtracking. “I mean, ah. Um. If it’s…if you don’t…it’s perfectly fine if you don’t, hmm, but you see the thing is, I thought you could sense that sort of thing anyway, and so really…um. You know what, pretend I never - ”

“Crowley.”

He broke off instantly. Aziraphale realised that his hand was still cupping Crowley’s face; he had never taken it away. That was good, that felt appropriate for what he wanted to accomplish here. “You know I do too, don’t you? Love you, I mean.” He dropped his voice, as Crowley’s lips parted in…well, not surprise, but something close to it. “I have for a long time. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but, you were always patient with me, dear.”

Crowley’s mouth was open, and he was clearly trying to speak, but no sound was coming out as yet.

Aziraphale laughed a little self-consciously, ran his thumb over the skin of Crowley’s cheekbone, finding the dampness of tears near the corner of his eye and simultaneously having a Realisation. Crowley couldn’t sense Love, not like he could. The sense was so instinctive to Aziraphale, it had somehow never occurred to him what it would be like to take part in the delicate dance they had been dancing about each other for millennia now without it. “But regardless, I’m sorry” he said, steeling himself to carry on — this was too important to falter now, “I’m so very sorry, if anything I did ever made it seem otherwise.”

Crowley made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. He looked overwhelmed, stammering, eyes roaming up towards the ceiling, before he pulled his gaze resolutely back to meet Aziraphale’s. “Sometimes it did” he admitted, rather clipped. “Yeah. Once or twice. Yeah, angel, there were times I wasn’t sure. Some mixed signals there.” He let his eyes go to the ceiling again, “questioning always being my sort of thing, et cetera. So to speak.”

Aziraphale felt a pang in his heart; all those times he’d taken the side of Heaven, when Crowley was on his, Aziraphale’s, side, all along. All those times when they’d argued, when they’d miscommunicated and perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t fully apologised when it really was his fault, all the times where he had just sort of expected that Crowley _knew_. But maybe he hadn’t, not fully and entirely, and hadn’t Aziraphale experienced his share of doubt and uncertainty recently, and hadn’t it been _agonising?_ “I’m…so-” he began, but Crowley cut him off, by covering Aziraphale’s hand against his cheek with his own, wrapping his fingers around it.

“For Hell’s sake — oof, maybe not that — but anyway, will you stop apologising and, um.” His voice went quiet suddenly, flushing all down his face and throat and to the tips of his ears as he lost the thread of what he was saying. Nevertheless, Crowley managed to choke out the last of it, though his voice was halfway to cracking down the middle. “Fuck it. Won’t you finally kiss me, angel?”

It had come out more plaintive than Crowley had probably intended. Nevertheless, the words hit Aziraphale with a force, driving home the reality of all this. All he could do was nod, a little dizzily.

And then, of course, lean forward, as though drawn by a gravitational force.

Their lips met with the certainty of thousands of years leading them in this direction, yet still there was a tremble to it, the reality of it new and terrifyingly fragile. Aziraphale could taste salt on Crowley’s lips, an errant tear that had rolled down, and the wine they had been drinking, and he could taste Crowley’s ever-so-quiet gasp, bright with Love, against his lips. It sent an electric thrill through his whole body, and he couldn’t help but lean closer, crushing their lips closer together, letting his hand slip back to cradle the back of Crowley’s neck, resting at the base of his skull. Suddenly, Aziraphale found himself a half-starving thing, opening his mouth to let their tongues meet, drinking him in, drawing another little sound out of Crowley that cut him to the heart. _And again, and once more_. _More of this, and more_.

Nevertheless, with momentous effort he forced himself to pull back, feeling his own heartbeat in his ears as he took in Crowley’s face, lips still parted, shining where Aziraphale’s tongue had slipped past a moment before. “Aziraphale…” Crowley breathed, with the same cadence to it as when Aziraphale had found him drinking and hopeless and the world ending around him, looking back at Aziraphale’s incorporeal form as though he was…well, a holy thing, something high and sacred and beautiful, and of course he _was_, but no one else had ever looked at him anything like _that_ before. _Idolatory_, said some small habitual part of him, but by Heaven did Crowley do it with style.

He pushed forward, needing more, and Crowley responded, deepening the kiss even as he leaned back over the arm of the sofa, letting Aziraphale loom over him, drink in his fill of his mouth. _Always so considerate_. He felt Crowley’s hands come up to the small of his back, and he arched into the touch, surprised by the intensity with which his body craved the contact. Well, their physical forms were human, after all, and human hearts grow starved for lack of touch. But it was more than that; the part of him that was other than human, the divine core of him, even that wanted, and wanted and wanted and craved to touch, to hold, to intertwine itself with Crowley’s being so that no one could ever pick apart the threads of them, even had they an eternity to do it in.

But Crowley’s choked-off moan brought him back to the very earthly physicality of it; a low sound, both transcendent and absolutely _filthy_, as Aziraphale dipped his head to kiss at his throat, tasting the hollows of it, feeling the sounds he was making vibrate through his lips. The sounds were going straight through him, linking the point of contact between his lips and Crowley’s throat with the pressure already building at the front of his trousers, Crowley answering in kind where their bodies — human in this respect, so very human in this moment — pressed together.

This, then, was what happened when all the unsaid things had been said, Aziraphale realised in some part of his mind that was still capable of coherent thought. And if this was their future, their inevitability, then he would happily run towards it, keeping up with Crowley all along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And suddenly, very angry. It was the way they talked to you. As though you were a houseplant that had started shedding leaves on the carpet."  
^^This is one of my favourite quotes/bits of Crowley characterisation from the book, and it makes me have Ideas about how he would react following his whole experience in Heaven in the show. (Also, dealing with your partner's shitty unaccepting family is gay culture.......it's about the Themes.....)
> 
> (Note: this is very definitely TV verse based, but I added both tags? Hope that's fine with people but let me know if not and I'll retag, I'm still pretty new in this fandom!)
> 
> Anyway yes hi I hope you enjoyed this, there will be a chapter 2 for which the rating will go up 👀👀👀
> 
> Come join me on tumblr @kanafinwhy!


	2. Chapter 2

If Aziraphale had pictured this — and it was certainly fair to say that he had, rather extensively and graphically, over the years — the image in his mind had been both very much like this, and entirely different. Such was the way of all much-imagined scenarios, of course, but this...this was so much more than the pale imitations in his head, every time he had pictured Crowley draped sinuously across this very sofa, tangled up in some configuration or other with Aziraphale himself. He used to be unable to stop thinking about it some nights when Crowley came over to drink and talk, hoping against hope that Crowley couldn’t see in some detail of his demeanour what was going through his head.

In broad terms, of course, his fantasies had been rather accurate to the real thing. But the specifics...well. Now, Aziraphale was realising that he never had a hope in Heaven of getting those right.

Like the way it felt when Crowley undid his bowtie with reverential hands, mouth pressing tentative under his jaw, before growing hungrier, teeth scraping just a fraction against the place where his collar opened to expose the soft side of his throat, where the pulse beat hot and fast. Such a human thing, heartbeats, but the feeling of Crowley’s mouth against his pulse point — so very gentle, yet still sending thrills through him — made his blood sing.

He gasped, grinding his hips downwards against Crowley’s, both relishing the friction and impatient, suddenly, for more contact, the feeling of skin on skin. Crowley made another small and desperate sound in his throat, hands moving down his sides to clasp Aziraphale’s hips, fingers squeezing tight, untucking his shirt so that they could roam up his back, then down over his arse. Pulling him ever closer, making him suck in his breath with want.

He kissed the triangle of skin visible where Crowley’s shirt exposed his chest, right over his sternum, and, high on the thrill of it, let his fingers go lower, palming the bulge at the front of his jeans. Crowley moaned, pulling back to look him in the eyes; already, Aziraphale saw, his eyes were yellow to the very corners, pupils dilating visibly by the moment. His mouth was a little open, in wonder perhaps.

“_Fuck_, angel, it’s good to finally get my hands on you” said Crowley.

“Well, you haven’t got your hands on much of me yet” he pointed out. With as patient a smile as he could muster under the circumstances, he took one of Crowley’s hands by the wrist and moved it to the front of his trousers, watching with accelerating anticipation as Crowley’s eyes widened. _Adorable_. “There’s still a lot more of me for your hands to get all over, I should say.”

“Angel, you’re going to kill me with this” protested Crowley, but his hand slipped upwards, undoing the button of Aziraphale’s trousers even as he seemed unable to look away from his face.

“I’d never do anything of the sort, dear” he said, dropping his head forward to whisper in Crowley’s ear. “I want to take care of you” he whispered. He had for a long time, but the way the words made Crowley moan urged him on, “and I want you to return the favour. If you want, my love.”

“A...Aziraphale…!” Crowley managed to choke out. “Yes, damn it, yes, I want…hhh…” he trembled as Aziraphale slipped a hand into the front of his trousers. Only to encounter more fabric, stiff black cotton, and -

“_Oh_” said Aziraphale, as Crowley looked up at him, puzzled. “Oh, blast it, I forgot I put you in this under your clothes. Not the best for this sort of thing, I’m afraid.”

“You put me in…” Crowley was looking down at his middle now, deeply confused. “Angel, what on earth am I wearing under there?”

“A very stylish swimming suit!” said Aziraphale.

“Does it go all the way up?” asked Crowley, picking at the cloth at his stomach. “How far down does it go down?” he was all but giggling now, shaking his head, “is it a full onesie? Does it have _feet_?”

“No!” protested Aziraphale, a bit put out, “I kept your socks on, of course. But I put you in it so that the assembled hordes of Hell wouldn’t see, well, everything, so you’re _welcome_…”

Crowley smirked. “Oh. Feeling proprietary, are we angel?”

“Perhaps” said Aziraphale, trying not to sound too defensive. He thought Crowley might tease him more, but instead, his eyes went lidded, swallowing a moan. This gave Aziraphale several ideas, in rapid succession. He gave Crowley a smile of his own. “They don’t get to see you” said, dropping his voice, speaking into Crowley’s ear and running a hand through his hair as he did so. “You’re not theirs. You’re _mine_.”

Crowley’s fingers gripped at the lapel of his waistcoat, the other hand at the small of his back. “Damn bloody right, I’m yours” he panted, as Aziraphale’s hand cupped him through the cloth of the bathing suit. “Always have been. Always will be.” 

“And I’m _yours_, darling” said Aziraphale, his own breath hitching in his chest as Crowley’s hand found its way to the buttons at the front of his waistcoat, undoing them — and the shirt beneath, and the trousers — with a flick of a finger.

Crowley looked up to meet his eye, hand pausing, something very desperate and exposed there in his gaze. “Can I…?”

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his mouth, whispered against his lips. “Please do...” he inhaled sharply, mind going blank for a moment as Crowley wasted no time, long, clever fingers wrapping around his cock. “Oh…Crowley…”

“_Angel_...” there it was again, that look of wonder, reflecting back even though Aziraphale was barely touching him at all. That wouldn’t do, though, he thought as Crowley began to move his hand, the heat of it enveloping, consuming. He was beginning to lose patience with his choice of clothing for Crowley’s body; how often had he considered laying Crowley down on this very sofa and taking him apart by slow inches? Yet here and now Crowley was doing all the work, which was an intolerable situation.

That decided it. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and all of Crowley’s clothes vanished from his body. Crowley’s eyes widened, as Aziraphale reached down and took him in hand too, matching his rhythm. Their gazes held for a moment, before Crowley looped his free arm around his back, pulling Aziraphale down into a searing kiss that nearly sent both of them overbalancing and tumbling off the sofa.

Like many first times, it was rather quick, and not a little clumsy, all limbs and learning and moans stifled into each others’ mouths. Crowley came with his hand clenched in Aziraphale’s trailing shirt tail, gasping his love into the humid air between them as he spilled hot and thick over Aziraphale’s fist. Aziraphale couldn’t look away from his face as he did, trying to memorise the way that he looked in pleasure; the way his delicate eyelids flickered, his lips parting in a choked-off cry. Half the syllables of Aziraphale’s name and half something that could not be put into words, a veritable torrent of love overwhelming his senses.

The combination, it turned out, of that and Crowley’s hand stuttering in its rhythm on him, was enough; Aziraphale came just after, crying out as he rode the wave of it, body trembling with it as he let himself go boneless against Crowley’s chest. He was aware of Crowley tugging his head up under his chin, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the very crown of Aziraphale’s head, and suddenly he wanted to cry, with how much he loved this bizarre and wondrous creature, who — and here was the greatest miracle of all — loved him back, matching his love and reflecting it and making it shine bright.

He looked up at Crowley, their gazes meeting for a long moment. Then, Crowley let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. “You’re still wearing almost all your clothes.” He rolled his eyes, which were a bit damp. “Typical.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Well, I took yours off. You can still return the favour. We’ve got all night, and forever, after all…”

“Hhh” said Crowley, which was about as coherent as Aziraphale felt himself right now. “I should’ve guessed you’d be bloody insatiable.”

“Take me to bed and I’ll _show_ you exactly how insatiable I can be.”

Crowley groaned. “What was I saying about how you’re going to kill me…”

“Silly.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “You know I love you far too much for that.” 

* * *

Crowley barely let go of him as they made their way upstairs, not even to allow Aziraphale to lift the piles of books that had accumulated on the bed. This, of course, made the whole process rather less efficient, but presently it was book-free and at least vaguely serviceable as a piece of furniture. Not that Aziraphale cared much; most any flat surface was looking good about now. He had some intriguing ideas involving his writing desk and Crowley that he had been thinking about since at least the 1830s, but those could wait, for the moment.

He wanted…he wanted. He wanted Crowley to have whatever he wanted of him, to feel the same letting go, to have his fill of him and still want more. And so he let Crowley walk him backwards against the slightly dusty bed, carefully taking off Aziraphale’s unbuttoned waistcoat and then his shirt, pulling his undone bowtie out of the collar with obvious relish. Then it was his trousers, which he was still somehow wearing despite everything, and then he was down to his underwear, still obscenely damp from his and Crowley’s come, mingled from before. 

Crowley had not bothered to put his clothes back on after Aziraphale had miracled them into a neat pile in the corner of the room, and so the feeling of his skin against Crowley’s at last hit him rather all at once, making his heart do a complicated flip and his cock twitch with interest once more.

Crowley smiled, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he felt it against him, pushing his thigh in between Aziraphale’s against the bed frame. “Lie back, angel” he murmured against his lips. “I want to taste you. …If you want.”

“If I…” Aziraphale stopped breathing for a moment. “You’re offering to suck my cock and you’re doing it with a casual _if you want_?”

“That was the general idea, yeah” said Crowley, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little impatiently. “I take it that’s a yes, then?”

“_Yes_” said Aziraphale, emphatic. He let Crowley lie him back on the bed, loom over him as Aziraphale had done for him in turn, pushing him gently against the headboard where several pillows had just become miraculously fluffy — though which of them had done that, Aziraphale couldn’t say. Crowley’s kisses down his chest were spots of heat, expanding outwards to fill him with fire, his whole body starting to flush as Crowley’s teeth scraped over his hips, then explored his thighs. All in slow, gradual progression, taking his time to explore, unlike their urgency earlier. His hand, though, came up and laced their fingers together, and didn’t let go, and Aziraphale could have wept from it.

It was too slower, now. Each time Crowley came near his cock, he seemed to draw back, taking the time to kiss or lick or bite some other part of Aziraphale. Eventually, it was too much. “_Crowley_” said Aziraphale sternly, raising a silent eyebrow and glancing meaningfully at his cock, red, shiny, and aching with need. “Can we please focus on what we’re trying to accomplish here.”

Crowley raised his head to meet his gaze, looking distinctly pleased with himself. “Why rush, angel? It’s not like we have any obligations to anyone, now, except …well.”

“What?”

“I was going to say, except to each other” said Crowley, suddenly apprehensive. “But I don’t want you to think…”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Then, he smiled. “My dear. If you think I am not yours, obligations, heart, soul and all, even after all this, then I don’t know what to do with you. You know I love you, don’t you? Yes? Jolly good. Now, will you please just suck my cock like you so nicely suggested earlier?”

Crowley went slack-jawed for a moment, but seemed to recover quickly. “Ooh. I quite like that. I knew you could be bossy, but...”

“_Bossy?_” he almost felt offended, but paused. “…Do you _want_ bossy?”

Crowley flushed a little. “Sometimes. I mean. Wouldn’t mind.”

“_Well_” said Aziraphale, briskly. It was something to think about, for later. “Hurry up and get on with it, then.” 

And Crowley moaned into the place where his thigh met his hip, and got to work.

* * *

“Had you done this before?” asked Aziraphale, idly, as they lay together some time later. Crowley’s head was resting on his stomach, limbs all wrapped around him in ways that human bodies probably didn’t or at least shouldn’t bend, using the soft parts of Aziraphale as a pillow. “With humans, I mean.” Aziraphale had, and knew Crowley knew he had; who was he, to turn down sensual delights? But it had never been like this; his attachments to humans had been pleasant, but they were a different sort of thing entirely from what he and Crowley shared.

Crowley raised his head at Aziraphale’s question, though, looking up into his face. “Once or twice” he said. “Why?”

“Just wondering” said Aziraphale, fingers running through Crowley’s hair, lazy and utterly relaxed. “Did you like it, with humans?”

Crowley made a face. “Wasn’t too bad” he said. “Bit of a take it or leave it situation. Pleasant enough, I suppose, but always a little awkward, with them. Once, I, ah…” Even now, he blushed. “Once I said your name. Y’know, at the end.”

“Once you…?” 

“Well,” said Crowley, “…maybe more than once.”

“Oh, Crowley…I daresay I might have let yours slip out at once point or another, too” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley yawned and stretched idly, wrapping himself closer around Aziraphale, though a moment ago he wouldn’t have thought such a thing possible. “Then it was about time for this, wasn’t it? All things considered.”

“All things considered” agreed Aziraphale, chuckling. “I suppose all it took was the end of the world to show me what I was missing.”

“So, not so very much, in the end” said Crowley, laughing with him.

* * *

The night was long, and, as it turned out, even when the unsaid things have all been said, there was still more to say. Words, words, words, in between the touches, knitting them ever closer.

Again, Aziraphale was holding Crowley, the blankets drawn up close to wrap both of them in a warm cocoon, a shelter from the outside that held just the two of them.

“Every time” said Crowley, muffled into his naked shoulder, “every time you came back from up there, there was this _look_ you would get, and – no, don’t try to deny it angel, listen – there was this way you’d be. You’d be a little bit...” he made an odd sort of shaky gesture with one hand, that made Aziraphale clasp the other hand tighter to his chest, and sighed. “And I didn’t even know, then, the way they treated you, but I still wanted to tear them down. Not because I was supposed to, not for a commendation or any such thing, but just because...” Crowley’s hand squeezed his “...because they made you look like that.”

“...Oh” said Aziraphale, in a small voice. He wanted to shout out his love, to cry great sobs of it into Crowley’s hair. But what came out instead was

a slightly stiff “I thought I hid it well.” _For Heaven’s sake_, he thought; he hadn’t even consciously understood it himself, until very recently indeed, much less let himself look at it directly and entertain it as a real possibility. That was the case with a lot of secret and covert feelings lately, it seemed.

“Oh, angel” sighed Crowley. “You did. I promise. Just. It was there.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Crowley looked askance at him once more. “Are you joking? You’d’ve stopped talking to me. Pushed me away. No more drunken nights in your shop for at least a couple of decades, no real conversations, just you holding me at bloody arms length.” His voice dropped, candid. “Couldn’t stand that.”

“Now, hang on a moment, I’d like to think that I would have listened to a reasonable...” he broke off, faced with Crowley’s cocked eyebrow of deep derision, and felt the truth of it wash over him. “Hmm. No, no, you’re right, of course.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather insufferable at times, my dear. And to think, it was for the sake of...” he thought back his every interaction with Gabriel and the other angels, flashing through his mind, a parade of humiliation. It still took work, to see it as their failing, rather than his own. He supposed it would for a while. But Crowley’s account of what he had been subjected to in heaven certainly sped up the process. “...Well” he said, gently extricating a hand, running his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone to push back into his hair, fingers tangling in soft red. Aziraphale had been to Hell and back, earlier, and Crowley certainly didn’t belong in that cruel and vicious place. The world he wanted most, the world they had made for themselves, was, hopefully, one where Crowley never had to go back there again. Not that he belonged in Heaven, either; neither of them did. “At least that’s all over now. I’m never going back.”

* * *

There was still more to say, because of course there was. This time, Aziraphale lay curled up at Crowley’s side, head on his shoulder. Crowley’s arm was slung around him, protective and close, as he listened quietly to Aziraphale’s outrage, boiling up all over again.

“…And it was so _dark_ and messy and dreadful down there, and all I could think of was you, my dear, and how _this_ was the place you always had to come back to. And…and they killed one of their own, just to test the holy water? Did I tell you that? Little round fellow, dumped him in the tub just to make sure Michael had brought them the real stuff!”

“Oof” said Crowley. “Dave. Pompous little bugger. Used to think about kicking him like a football. Still. Probably didn’t deserve that. I mean, he’s a demon, he definitely did. No, don’t look like that, I’m not including myself in that. Um.” He patted Aziraphale’s arm consolingly. “Sorry. Do carry on.”

Aziraphale frowned, voice dropping. “I don’t really give a toss about any other demons. But…Crowley, _one of their own_. For no reason! And it would have been you next, without any sort of a fair trial at all!” 

“Well, what did you expect? Hell doesn’t exactly operate according to the Geneva Convention, angel! …Besides. As I said, Heaven wasn’t any better.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders drooped. “Yes” he said, with a sigh. “You’re right, of course.” It was sinking in slowly, what with… everything else. It had been an eventful few days.

“Mmf. I agree. Back then,” and they both knew he meant _then_, before earthly time had existed and before the first War, “it was just, you step a little out of line, and _bam_, trapdoor in the floor gives way beneath you! Now, they haven’t changed much, except they try a little harder to finish the job. I suppose they’ve learned that sometimes, the things they try to dispose of come back to bite them.” Crowley grinned, exposing all his teeth. His arm went a little bit tighter around Aziraphale, who snuggled into him gladly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “That’s us now, I guess.”

“Well, it’s like you said. They’ll leave us alone for a while.”

“Yes. No use worrying about the future for now, I suppose.”

“Or the present” said Aziraphale, pressing his eyes closed and inhaling the smell of Crowley’s skin.

“Or the present” he agreed, and rolled them both over so that he was on top of Aziraphale, pressing him into the mattress in a heated kiss.

* * *

It was the darkest part of the night, the part that invited secrets shared, unthinkable things given voice. Aziraphale could turn on the light, or call down heavenly light if he wanted; of course he could. But the dark, he was quickly beginning to find, was a much safer place than Heaven would have one believe. Safe for secrets, whispered truths. A familiar motif, seen and repeated and echoed back down human history; two lovers, curled close together and whispering words that the light would send scurrying for shelter. Brought out at last, and known, and comforted.

“I want…I _had_ wanted…” admitted Crowley, into the dark, “for a long time, I’d wanted to wash you clean of them. Crawl into your heart and into your bed so you’d never want to look back. And I wanted you to do the same for me. But I was so…so afraid…”

The honesty of the confession struck to Aziraphale’s heart, the naked truth to it. Such an admission wasn’t something that fell anywhere near the unspoken boundaries of whatever had been between them before. Now in the dark of the night, the two of them lying unclothed with nothing between them, all of this was so completely outside of the usual parameters within which they interacted. But even so. He tucked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder. “What were you afraid of?” he asked, as gently as he could; he thought he might know, anyway.

“Of you Falling, mostly” said Crowley, voice cracking. “It…hurt.” _Agony, wings being burned out feather by feather to the roots, a mess of broken pieces_, in just two words. “Didn’t want that for you.”

Aziraphale held him tighter, just waiting, because he could tell Crowley wasn’t done. He couldn’t see Crowley’s face like this, curled up at his back, but he got the sense that Crowley would never have been able to talk like this at all if they were eye to eye. 

“…Also. Also, I was afraid that if I pushed too hard…you’d leave. Become more like them again. Realise you were wrong, be a proper angel again, who didn’t associate with demons.” Another long silence. “That one was almost worse.” Somehow, even curled up in Aziraphale’s arms, he managed a shrug. “Selfish, maybe, but there you go.”

“You must have known I’d never” said Aziraphale, kissing Crowley’s shoulder.

“I knew” said Crowley. “I _know_ you, angel. But…” he let out the ghost of a hollow laugh, “the whole faith business hasn’t ever really been my strongpoint. Too many questions.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh the contrary,” he said, thinking about it as he spoke. “I think…I believe, now after everything, that faith isn’t… never questioning anything. It’s questioning and questioning, and choosing a path, and choosing…choosing to _keep_ choosing it, again and again. Maybe there was a time when unquestioned faith was…the order of the day, so to speak. But I think, I think if we’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that the rules on which She runs the universe are…subject to change. And I think…my dear, that kind of faith, you have in bucketfuls.” Aziraphale thought of the day before — was it really only the day before? Probably not, they were definitely past midnight, so it was certainly Monday now— trying to speak to Her, out of final desperation. In the end, it hadn’t been appealing to a higher authority that had saved him, or the world, and it had took him too long to realise it. So long, it had almost cost everything. It had only been when they all started making it up as they went along that things had really started taking a turn for the better, which Crowley probably could have told him from the start. Had tried to multiple times, as a matter of fact. He sighed. “You’re certainly much better at it than I am.”

Crowley turned around in his arms, a single fluid motion, so their eyes met. Aziraphale drew in a breath, caught by the dim streetlight glow filtering in through the gap in the curtains, turning Crowley’s eyes to pale, shining gold as they searched his face. Caught between pain and excitement, and something like hunger. Then, just as he was about to say something else, Crowley burst out laughing.

Aziraphale glared. “_What_?”

“Angel, your theology is bizarre these days. I don’t know what to think, other than I love you so much.” His eyes lidded, mouth curling into a coy smile as he watched Aziraphale blush a little. “Also nice and convenient, isn’t it, for this sort of thing…”

Crowley wrapped him in his arms, pulling him closer so they were pressed long and close, body to body, skin to heated skin. But despite himself, Aziraphale persisted. “Convenient nothing” he said impatiently, the words tumbling from his mouth even as he knew them to be true. Where they were coming from, he barely knew, but in hindsight, they had always been there, hidden in some deep part of him he hadn’t dared look at directly, all these years. He didn’t look at it now, either; instead, he looked into the yellow of Crowley’s eyes, and spoke with hope. “This was never a sin. Even if we’d been… ah, _this,_ all the time, I don’t suppose...” he swallowed, as Crowley made a soft sound of encouragement, a broken little thing in the back of his throat as though there were too much love there to fit into mere words. Aziraphale found he could relate to that. But it wouldn’t do not to try; he had to make Crowley understand this. “I am _done_, my dear, with being afraid.” He cupped Crowley’s jaw, pulling his head closer so he was nearly whispering the words into his mouth, “I was so afraid, for so long” he confessed, “and ashamed, and, and...no more of that.” He breathed, the words tasting like relief, like Crowley’s salt tears against his lips, or maybe his own. “Not anymore” he said. “I see what it’s like now, dear. I see what you saw all along. And I’m not afraid anymore, because they’re _nothing_, nothing at all compared to you. I’m only sorry it took me so long to catch up to you. And in time, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Angel...” breathed Crowley against his lips. He seemed to be going for a derisive tone, Aziraphale supposed, but he had missed badly and landed instead squarely between awe and slightly teary laughter. Aziraphale couldn’t fault him for it, since it was really quite adorable. “I love you, but you’re an idiot if you think there’s anything there to forgive.”

“There is, though” he said, heart sinking. “I’ve said some quite _dreadful_ things to you.”

He felt Crowley sigh against him. “I know you didn’t mean them.”

“But I still _said_ them. I told you I didn’t even _like_ you! And it’s because I was afraid, I was afraid of the unknown and of failure and of the world ending and the thing is, _none_ of that justifies my hurting you. So, I’m sorry.”

Crowley gave him a long, long look, and though at first Aziraphale thought he might say something flippant, in that moment, his whole face seemed to soften. “It’s okay, angel.” He stroked Aziraphale’s hair, with heartbreaking gentleness. He always knew what Aziraphale needed. “I forgive you.”

* * *

There was something to this part of the morning, the world cast in grey. It always seemed just outside of the earthly world to Aziraphale, those early hours when most humans weren’t awake yet, but through which he usually raised his head from his book to see the night transmuted to day, century after century, watching the skyline change. There was a ritual, of a sort, or maybe more of a habit; usually, he would make himself a cup of tea — his first, several hours before breakfast proper — and curl his hands around its grounding warmth, the steam curling up as he stared out of the window, into the shifting clouds of the London sky. And sometimes, he would feel a tug in his chest, of something he had never quite been able to put a name to.

He might be able to now, he thought. But this morning, he had forgone his contemplation of the city in the last phases of its dreaming, being thoroughly distracted by what was going on inside the gathered warmth of their bedroom.

The pallid light before dawn illuminated Crowley in planes and shadows, flinging his head back to expose his throat as he moved. It was quite an overwhelming sight alone, not to mention the tight, undulating heat of him, split open astride Aziraphale’s hips.

“Ah…_yesss_, angel…”

Before, they had been all urgency and fast heartbeats at throats and hungry hands, but this was something different: slow and deep and dreamlike. Aziraphale gasped, pushing up harder into the eternal heat inside him in response as Crowley moved slower, matching his pace. Everything was cast in monochrome, a thousand chiaroscuro shades, and he brought his hands up to cup around Crowley’s hips, the extra leverage making them both moan, overwhelmed with sensation like the drowning waves of the sea.

“Angel…” Crowley leaned forward a bit, and gasped out a stuttering series of meaningless syllables at the change of angle. “Sssit up — ah! — let me — _fuck_, hng — _let_ me…” 

Aziraphale knew exactly what he meant; after all, he’d spent a long time reading between Crowley’s words and into his pauses, long before it was like this between them. And if Crowley, dear thing, wasn’t articulate enough now to say, in quite so many words, that he wanted to look into Aziraphale’s eyes and kiss him softly as they made love slow and deep, then…well, Aziraphale knew what he meant well enough. And so, he pushed himself backwards and up, so he was leaning against the headboard of the bed, moving slowly so Crowley could still sit astride him, but now their faces were close, eye to eye and lips to lips.

Crowley’s eyes were drawn of most of their colour by the grey light. All pretence of human whites gone hours ago, his pupils wide and dark as bitter almonds. Crowley’s arms went out to him, wrapping him all around against the headboard as Aziraphale moved inside him. He had less leverage like this, but Crowley had almost all the control now, and seeing each other’s faces so close made it worth it. Crowley’s cock was trapped between them, and he whimpered as it brushed Aziraphale’s stomach, and then again when Aziraphale took hold of it. Hand moving in time with their rhythm, eyes pressed shut as he leaned his head back, Crowley’s face pressed to his sweat-slicked throat. The sounds Crowley made were speeding him fast along too, and he bit down on his lip, gasping out.

“Ah…angel, you - ”

“_Yes_, my dear, my love - ” 

“Fuck – _hnn_, I mean, no, it’s your…” 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, seeing the light in the room was different; it took him a slow moment to realise that the light was coming from him. His whole body was aglow with it, the beginnings of his halo, an enveloping nimbus of celestial light. Holiness crackled off it in small electric sparks, incandescent. He felt a little embarrassed; he hadn’t intended to do that, and Crowley’s eyes had gone wide with…something. A moment later another thought occurred to Aziraphale. “Oh! Oh, dear, it’s not hurting you, is it?” Now that he saw it, was there some pain on Crowley’s face, mingled in with the pleasure? “I can…” he made to cloak his halo, making a concerted effort to withdraw the overspilling holiness within the bounds of his physical form.

But there was a hand on his shoulder. “No. Keep it.” Crowley was looking at him, incredulous and fascinated and so, so in love. “It’s…” he waved his fingers in a complicated motion between them, underlining his point by shifting his hips in a way that made Aziraphale gasp, “…tingly. Like the air before lightning.” With that, he began to move again, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s halo as he went, in apparent fascination.

“Oh” said Aziraphale, almost helpless to stop himself following along and moving inside Crowley, “well, if you’re sure…”

A sly smile, a jerk of the hips. “I faced down all of Heaven for you yesterday. I’d do it again today, if you – ah! Hnn – if you asked. Even if you didn’t. And there are so many other ways you destroy me, angel, a little bit of holy light’s the least of ‘em.”

Aziraphale’s mouth curved too, thrusting up into Crowley again, again. Almost before he realised, he found himself on the brink. “C-Crowley…” he managed to stammer out, clutching Crowley’s hips spasmodically. “I…”

Crowley held him tighter. “Don’t hold back, angel” he whispered. “Come in me…”

And that was enough; a moment later, Aziraphale was spilling himself inside Crowley, face pressed against his narrow chest, eyes squeezing closed as he gasped. The light from his halo was illuminating the whole room, as though in vivid daylight, making him see the red of blood through his eyelids even against Crowley’s chest. 

Once again, Crowley held him as he shuddered with it, then kissed him as the light faded to a soft glow, and then again when Aziraphale pulled out of him, the moment aching and raw with emotion. “Let me take care of you” said Aziraphale, when he could speak again; he was looking at Crowley’s cock, which was still hard against his stomach. “Sit on the side of the bed, my love…”

“Angel…” Crowley’s eyes widened as he watched Aziraphale getting down on his knees.

Aziraphale looked back up into those dear, familiar yellow eyes, and licked along the length of Crowley’s cock, taking the tip of it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Cupping his balls in one hand. Never looking away from his face all the while.

When at last Crowley came, hot and deep in his throat, it tasted like the promise of a life granted anew, a world remade just for the two of them. 

* * *

Mid-morning found them lying together with their legs tangled up in the sheets and with each other, buttery morning sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains, falling distorted across the bed through the uneven Victorian glazing. Crowley’s head rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his long body draped sinuously across him. The weight of him felt good; Aziraphale had never been much for sleeping — he didn’t really see the point or the appeal of simply losing consciousness for an unspecified length of time if one didn’t physically need to to function properly. He had always considered it something of an odd quirk in the design of the human body, but like so many things, had thought it better not to ask Her what She had meant by it.

But perhaps, if it was like this, he could start to see the appeal. He felt pleasantly weighed down and grounded, contented, with Crowley’s hair tickling his chin. The warm flutter of his breath against the well-bitten, pleasantly tender flesh at the soft place between his neck and collarbone. He reached up and let his fingers run through Crowley’s hair, then drew them down the back of his neck and along his spine, feeling the ridges and furrows, counting the vertebrae. He couldn’t remember how many of those humans were meant to have, but Crowley definitely had more than that. Came from the general snakeyness of him, Aziraphale supposed.

He stroked the sharp jut of Crowley’s shoulder blade, the sensitive place where his wings extended into another place, just outside of mortal vision. Crowley made a soft, contented little noise in his throat at the touch, and so, emboldened, Aziraphale let his hand become a little less corporeal, but not wholly incorporeal either; just enough to slip his fingers into that other, parallel place overlaid with the earthly world, where Crowley’s wings resided. In that place, his fingers scritched at the good, sensitive spot at the base of Crowley’s wing — or at least, the place that he expected to feel good, extrapolating from his own wings, not that anyone much had touched them in…well, Aziraphale didn’t know how long — gently ruffling up the downy feathers there.

The incorporeal massaging touch made Crowley give a pleased shudder, curling his body closer, and Aziraphale smiled wider, digging his fingers in and then gentling, caressing by turns. He could feel scar tissue there; not the mortal sort, but the sort that comes from the burn of hellfire, a roughness to the place, merging into the cool scaliness of the rest of Crowley’s true form. Skin and scales and feathers, burned away on re-entry and healed and grown back, different to before. Whole, but always with a reminder, a jagged crack that would never go away. He felt Crowley’s breath hitch as he touched a larger knot of scar tissue, reassuring him with a grasping touch. Too much gentleness here would feel like coddling, would feel like pity to Crowley, he knew. But it was sensitive, it always would be. And right there and then he decided to make it his business to touch Crowley there, and everywhere, just the way he wanted it most, from now until whatever eternity they were bound for.

Crowley stretched luxuriantly, arching into the touch. “’s nice, angel” he mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck. “Keep doing that.”

Aziraphale smiled too, up at the ceiling, and did. “I love you desperately” he said, just because he could, and felt Crowley’s smile against his skin.

“Embarrassing for you” said Crowley, raising his head with a grin. “Sappy.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, fingers tapping impatiently against Crowley’s skin, which only served to turn his smile into a smirk. “You love me too.”

“Well, yes, obviously” said Crowley. “We’re both goners, really. But it’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”

And yes, Aziraphale realised; he was right, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy it's finished! It's just a bunch of emotional sex and also working through Issues™....I hope you liked it! If you did, I invite you to check out the rest of this series. Also let me know what you think!
> 
> And/or come join me on tumblr @kanafinwhy!


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